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We spent the entire weekend freaking out. “I can’t believe we actually bought tickets!” we kept saying to each other. After all, less than a week ago I still thought I was going to Spain. And now, we’re on our way to Ireland.

The living room looks like a sporting goods store that’s been vandalized; gutless backpacks sprawl, straps scattered, over the couches and floor. Rain pants, hiking boots, and cameras compete for space on the coffee table. We were trying to find out what size backpack we would need. We have two 5,000 cubic inch backpacks, and one 3500, and they’re either too big or too small.

I’m a fan of packing as light as possible and taking the 3500 inch backpack, but my mom is convinced that we need to bring everything. I’d take nothing but my laptop, clean socks, and rain gear, but she wants to bring everything from multiple towels, sleeping bags (despite the fact that we’re sleeping in hostels,) and four different types of pants–to hair dryers, purses, and small dogs (not really.)

I can see her point on some things; I just think it gets excessive. I’m going to make her pack up her backpack before she leaves and carry it around for a full day–she’ll decide she doesn’t need quite as much, I’m sure.

We still have four months before we go, though, so there’s plenty of time to pack and decide what we’re taking. And where we’re going once we get to Ireland. At the moment, we have no plan at all.

Wickford Way? Dingle Way? Kerry Way? Part of the Donegal Way? How long should we stay in Dublin? These are all questions that somehow, we must at least attempt to answer before we get on the plane, naive and clueless, on our way to Ireland.